Fantasia The NeverEnding Story
by StarStealer
Summary: This story is about Alex, Bastian's son. After finding a mysterious book from his father, Alex will question if growing up really means losing your imagination.


Fantasia

By: Laney

Note: I dunno if anyone's reading – the NeverEnding Story is pretty old – but I was watching it and feeling nostalgic. I had an idea for a story and so here it is. If you're reading this and lurking please leave a review. I'd love to hear what anyone thinks (the good and the bad!).

Also know that A) I have not read the book. I'm sorry. B) This was just an idea floating around in my head after watching the movie I love so much. C) I thought the sequels were HORRIBLE and so I will use no reference to them aside from the assumption that Bastian's father re-married and Bastian has a stepsister.

That being said – enjoy.

Chapter One: A Gift From a Ghost

It was a cold day.

The wind wasn't blowing hard but it seemed ten degrees colder than what it was for Alex Bux. The grass had lost its green and the sky was pure gray, threatening them with the possibility of rain.

Rain was the very last thing on Alex's mind as his sad, brown eyes stared woefully at the cold stone grave, which read, "**Bastian B. Bux**," his father. His aunt clutched his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze but she may as well have been squeezing the hand of a doll. Alex felt _nothing_, none of it. His thoughts were so blank and so empty he wondered if he'd ever think normal thoughts, daydreams and fantasies, ever again. His life now seemed so colorless and bleak. His father had been the painter and Alex had been his canvas. Since he could remember, Alex had always listened to his father spin tales of a place called Fantasia and the remarkable creatures within it.

As he grew, it was perfectly natural that Alex had less use of the stories, but he still had enjoyed hearing them.

And now he was gone. The canvas would be left blank and neglected by its painter.

The bitter autumn breeze ruffled his shaggy mop of brownish-blonde hair about his youthful face. Alex was fifteen. He was old enough to have a sense of independence about his life, but at this moment he felt more like a three year old who was bawling inside, calling for his daddy to come to him. He watched as the priest finished his vows and as the crowd began to scatter and leave, some crying and dabbing at their eyes.

"Would you like a bit longer Hun?" his aunt asked kindly. Alex just nodded, not favoring her with a look. His Aunt squeezed his shoulder and he could hear her footsteps shuffle away against the grass under her feet. He took in a deep breathe of the damp cemetery air and stepped forward slowly. By now the crowd was completely gone and he was alone, just he and his father. It did occur to Alex that this would be the last moment he'd have with his father. It would be the last time it'd be just him and his dad, pals, jokers and buddies.

He swallowed back tears. Until this point, he'd been too numb to cry. Now, as he stared at the sleek, long, black box that held his beloved father, that seemed so _foreign_, he slowly felt the numb crumble away and give birth to utter agony and grief.

His shoulders shook and before he knew it he was sobbing, hot tears streamed down his cold cheeks. "Dad…" he cried and flung himself onto the coffin only wishing it was into his fathers' arms as opposed to this cold box. He heard footsteps and barely heard his aunt's voice over his sobs. "Dad!" he cried in grief and could feel his aunt pull him close to her. He didn't want her though; he didn't want anyone but the one person who'd been stolen from him. If this was life, if he was going to lose those he kept so close to his heart, what was the point of feeling at all if only to feel pain? What was the point if everyone left?

Alex grit his teeth as his aunt turned him away from the coffin. He gasped, hyperventilating slightly and tried to stop his tears. It was of no use and he broke again, sobbing violently. He would cry all the rest of the day and the night as well. Alex would mourn his father and so would the world beyond.

"No value? You go out with the TRASH then loser!"

"No…no!" he cried and kicked and squirmed but it was to no avail. The taller boy, who had shaggy blonde hair, icy blue eyes and fairly good looks, dumped him head first into the foul smelling can.

Alex watched from the sidelines with his friend Andy beside him. Neither said anything or made a move to help. Why should he? He was a loner and the bullies had found since day one that he wasn't even worth picking on (as he had never shown them any fear or any other emotion for that matter). Alex watched as the kid cried out in disgust and then just flat out began to cry. "Wimp…" Andy muttered beside him. The bully, known as Shane Flanagan, finally released the kid and kicked the trashcan over. A few kids snickered, mainly Shane's friends, and the rest just watched. It was the way things worked socially. You didn't want to be the kid in the trashcan, then you didn't argue with Shane Flanagan and his cronies.

Shane locked eyes with Alex and made a sneer. "Maybe one of these days it'll be you in here Creepy!" he said and Alex flinched only slightly as hundreds of eyes turned to him. He didn't say anything to Shane and just stared, then looked back to the kid on the ground, now picking pieces of debris out of his hair and wiping his tears. It was odd because the kid didn't look so much unlike himself. Brown, shaggy hair and almond colored eyes were his main features. The only thing that set the two boys apart was that the trashcan-kid wore thick-rimmed glasses that were taped at the middle and had a slight outbreak of acne.

"Well he was in a bad mood," Alex said and looked to Alex. "He threatened you, what was that about?" Alex shrugged it off and turned away from the scene, heading back to the lunch tables. "Who knows?" he muttered. "I think everyone gets threatened by Shane at some point in the year." Andy snickered and tossed his hair back, throwing black hair out of his face. "Yeah right. He only threatens weirdoes like you and nerds like the trash diver back there," Andy snorted, jerking his thumb behind him in the direction of the kid in the trashcan. "Whatever it's not like you're Mr. Personality-Popularity either," Alex shot back. "Hey!" Andy said and punched Alex in the shoulder. Again, Alex shrugged it off and sat back down at their table. He eyed his brown-bagged lunch that his Aunt Melbie had made him and then grabbed it, aiming for it to meet the garbage.

"Hey, you planning on throwing that away again?" Andy asked with his interest now piqued. Alex tossed the loaded bag at his friend and nodded. "You have it," he offered and the grin almost tore up Andy's face. "Awwwesome!" he cried and began to rummage through the bag. "I love your aunt's sandwiches!" Alex smirked and tilted his head, perplexed at that statement. The only thing his aunt, continually, packed in his lunch was a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, juice, some fruit and a Twinkie for dessert. By now, Alex was sick of the repetitive bagged lunch. His father always made sure that he had variety, almost continually surprising him day after day, even if it was some kind of sandwich Alex had never tried before.

"You call me weird," Alex said with a little smile and Andy smirked and tossed a crust at him. "You know," he started, still chewing sandwich in his mouth. "Most pweople wike lwunch cause ya get to _eat_," Andy said and Alex just shook his head, looking down. "Not hungry," he said casually as he drug his backup up onto the counter and unzipped it. Andy shrugged and took another giant bite, slopping jelly down his chin. Alex reached into his bag and sighed. He might as well take the time to accomplish some of his school work as doing it now would leave him less later on to contend with. He finally found what he was seeking and then pushed the pack aside.

"English homework…chapters one and two, full page summary of both," he stated, running off the assignment from his head. Andy nodded and reached for the book, his fingers full of crumbs. Alex dodged the grasp and Andy just settled with pointing. "Yah!" he said smacking his lips. "When that's done you're gunna let me copy, right?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "You know some people actually get good grades by doing the work, dork."

Andy mocked indignation and took another bite of the disappearing sandwich. "I do DO work. I write the words onto my paper. That's work! I mean you know how tired my hand gets after all that? Phew."

Alex chuckled just a little bit and opened the book. He was lucky in that his father had purchased all of his school supplies, books included, early in the year so now he wasn't bothering with school shopping to pick up the book needed for his current assignment. Alex swallowed at the memory and suddenly the assignment didn't seem so trivial. Suddenly the book in his hands was like a bar of pure gold.

His father hadn't been well, but he hadn't been bed ridden yet either. It had been his aunt's insistence, really his step-aunt, that his father let her do the shopping and rest, but Bastian had been adamant and put his foot down. Alex still remembered his words. "No books have always been my thing anyway. Me and Alexie will have fun, right?"

Alex fought back the urge to cry right there and successfully managed to hold it in. It only struck him so much because all his life, he couldn't help being attracted to books. Books of all kinds, science, languages, weather, literally anything however his favorite had been fantasy. Even as he now grew older, his imagination would still get the better of him when he opened a book. Or at least it _had_. It just seemed a lot harder to do now with his father gone. The imagination he'd had seemed to be blocked by an invisible wall. His father had always been _so_ good at painting pictures and breathing life into his imagination when he told stories.

"Hey man, you okay?" Andy asked, mid-opening of the Twinkie. Alex just nodded and hung his head. He didn't want Andy to see him upset because he knew he'd just have some smart comment to make, even though, thankfully, Andy had been very kind to him a month ago when his father had passed on.

He opened the book and tried to focus on his assignment at hand, preparing to read the book. From the cover, it appeared to be a survival story of an Indian. Already Alex could feel his luster for reading drain like water from a broken bag. "_In the real world, this book would be about how the Indian dies after all his struggles go in vain_," Alex thought grimly. He folded the cover back slightly and turned the title page.

He froze.

On the first page was scrawled a note in his dad's handwriting, _Bastian's_ handwriting. Alex felt a lump rise in his throat and he couldn't tell at that moment if it was from grief or sickness. Maybe both.

The note read:

"**Alex – Never give up your love and imagination. As long as you can dream, I will find you and you'll find me**."

Alex felt his brow wrinkle in an attempt not to cry or scream, his teeth grit. He almost threw the book down. It was probably so easy for his father to write this. He hadn't been dead. He hadn't been basically orphaned at fifteen years old. He hadn't grown up isolated because he had all the stupid fairy-tale crap from books and stories floating around in his head. His father had been brave, strong and well loved by a lot of people. It all seemed so _wrong_ to Alex and he wanted to tear the book to shreds, but he read on.

"**I know you're growing older Alex and I wanted to make sure you'd still keep that gift, your imagination, even after I'd left. In my study, there's a loose floorboard by the bookshelf. Inside you'll find something very special. It was mine and now I give it to you. Perhaps I should've given it to you sooner, but I was weak and could not bear the thought of burdening you at such a young age. Please tell Moonchild I'm sorry, for everything. I love you Alex and I will always watch over you, no matter where you may go. Love, Dad**"

"_Moonchild_?" Alex thought, completely lost. The note was bizarre. He had never really seen his father act so apologetic so for him it was strange. "What's he giving me that could be so bad he'd call it a burden?" he wondered aloud. "What?" Andy asked. "Whoa Alex! You look like you've seen a ghost, you okay?" Andy asked, looking at him as though he had two drooling heads.

Alex nodded hurriedly and closed the book. "Y-yeah. I think I did maybe," he said shoving the book in his backpack and zipping it up. "What?" Andy asked, confused beyond his own reasoning. Alex slung the loaded backpack over his shoulder and began to walk off. Andy abandoned the rest of the bag lunch and tried to follow his friend. "What? What ghost? Alex!"

"I'll tell you later!" Alex called out, already jogging past groups of kids towards the school's exit.


End file.
